Folsom Prison Blues
by karmine
Summary: No matter if it was going to kill him, they were getting out.


It had been seven days since they'd been transferred to the Hoag.

Seven days since their da had died.

Seven days since Romeo had been put in a medically induced coma and Murphy and himself had been stitched and wrapped.

All it had taken was mere minutes seven days ago and nothing would ever be the same again.

It wasn't any easier - life. He didn't think it ever would be again. It was silly really. They had gone 27 years without seeing their da and had gotten by. They'd had their ma and Rocco back then. They'd had the bar and Doc and their shitty apartment with an equally shitty job. But, no matter how bad, it was their nicely constructed world of shit and it was just fine by him. At least, that was until their da had literally entered their lives with a hale of bullets and a prayer.

He had changed everything. It made Connor wonder what life would've been like if their da had been in it from the beginning. Would their ma have stayed an angry drunk who insisted on them learning languages, guns and religion? Maybe they would have been a happy little family back in Ireland, going to church every Sunday and praying before a meal. He'd probably end up as a priest, while Murph did God knows what - always by his side. Maybe they would've never ended up in Boston, getting to know Rocco, Doc and all the others. Fuck, just thinking about all the possibilities made his head spin like it'd been St. Patty's day the night before.

The thought of a different life made him squeeze his eyelids tight. He shifted in his rickety hospital bed trying to find comfort but found none. The sheets were itchy and hardly comforting from the cold air that seeped in through the walls. He hated 'what ifs.' All they did was fuck with your mind and keep you loopin'. He'd learnt a long time ago that it came to no good. Normally when he got like this, Murph would cuff him on the back of the head and whisper something in his ear to make him forget the never ending well that his thoughts became. But Murph was asleep, his eyes moving rapidly beneath his eyelids as he was locked in a far away dream world. So he let him sleep for even if it wasn't real, hopefully it was a better place then this.

His breath shuddered before he quickly put a hand over his mouth. He could feel his throat constrict and burn as tears pricked at the corner of his eyes. He promised himself he wouldn't cry over this: their situation, their da. He wasn't going to let his thoughts linger like this. He needed to be strong, now more than ever. For Murph and Romeo. So he squeezed his hand tighter over his mouth and rapidly blinked to try to calm himself down. He needed to relax, he could tell that his roller coaster of emotions was effecting Murphy, even in sleep. His brother had began to twitch and shift around in his bed. Soft words and moans of upset were passing through his lips as he seemed to struggle with some unknown demon in his dreams.

Whenever one of them had been upset, the other knew almost immediately. He couldn't describe how, but it'd been that way since birth. If Murph was upset, he was upset. If he was in pain, so was Murph. When they had first met, Rocco had deemed it 'that creepy twin thing,' and would constantly ask them questions about it until he was blue in the face. Connor had happily obliged him of course, telling grand tales of being a twin while taking any opportunity to embarrass Murph while he did it. He was normally grateful that he was a twin. Having someone who understood you so completely; someone you could share anything with and they'd always be there for you was indescribable. But, like any human, he too needed space to figure out his own thoughts and emotions, and with Murph, intentionally or not, reacting to what he was feeling made it hard to do that. He didn't need him to wake up now. No, what he needed was a drink and a cigarette. He needed time. He needed to calm the fuck down. He needed to take care of Murph and Romeo. He needed a fucking plan.

He needed too much and it was killing him.

He took a deep breath, willing himself to relax. He couldn't figure everything out if he was silently losing it inside. He needed to calm down and think of a foolproof plan this time. One that could get the three of them out of here alive before they got transferred out of the medical ward. He'd been thinking of ways to get out since the first night they'd spent there. Romeo had just finished surgery and Murphy and himself had been stitched up, sore as hell and still grieving. Murph hadn't been able to sleep and neither had he, so they had laid on their hospital beds, staring at the ceiling, quietly talking to each other in Gaelic of plans on how to get out. It felt like they had talked about every possibility. Unfortunately, the plan either ended with leaving Romeo behind, contracting outside help, or just not working at all.

The annoying part of this all was that they hit the fuckin' mother-load here; no slim pickings of criminals in a jail, that's for sure. But he couldn't take the risk of what that meant. Many of the guys here would have a grudge against them, taking any opportunity they had to get back at them for killing one of their worthless 'cousins.' And as much as he loved a good fight, he knew this was one that he and Murph couldn't win, not on their own at least.

He hit the mattress in frustration, his handcuffs clanking against the bed rail in protest. There was no fucking way they were going to be able to successfully get out. He needed to do right by Murph and Romeo. It had been his idea to come to Boston and it had been his idea to follow their da to the ends of the Earth, all while including Romeo into their harebrained schemes. All the bad things, they had been his fault. He was supposed to look out for Murph, that's what his ma had told him from the beginning, not that he ever needed her to. It was something instinctual, looking after Murphy. Hell, Murph looked after him just as much if he really thought about it. They would do anything for each other and he knew that, he really did. But even though their Ma had never told them who was older, he'd always felt it was him and he took that to heart. He would rather die than see his brother suffer and willow away, and if death was what it was going to take to get Murph and Romeo out, then death he would accept.

* * *

He woke with a start. Something had startled him out off a deep sleep causing him to jolt up. He doubled over, grabbing his side as a sharp pain came from his wounded stomach and felt his breath leave him. Within seconds he felt cool, comforting hands on both of his shoulders. Murphy. He was whispering nonsensical words into his ear, trying to get him to unfurl.

"I'm fine. It's fine, just lost me breath for a second," he gasped.

He felt Murphy shift so he was sitting beside him, an arm curled protectively around his shoulders, minding his wounds. He could hear Murphy say something rather rude, this time not to him but someone else who had moved into his line of blurry vision.

"-on't you fuck off? We've done nothin' to ya."

"Y'all need to be awake for the Doctor. S'not my fault he wasn't up, maybe next time you'll know better."

Blinking to clear his eyes of sleep, Connor looked up to view the other speaker. He was met with the sight of a rather burly looking guard who had to have been a good four inches taller than them and about twice the width.

"Why don't you have some fuckin' common decency next time and-."

"It's fine Murph, really." Murphy darted his eyes toward him and searched his face. Connor dipped his chin - let it be. Murphy quickly looked back to the guard, his eyes watching his every move.

The guard just crossed his arms and leaned against the wall beside the door a smirk gracing his hard features. Not even a minute later, a woman strutted into the room. She reminded him of a much older, shorter version of the lesbian who'd kicked him between the legs at the meat packing plant. At this thought, he felt himself involuntarily close his legs together, earning a quiet chuckle from his brother.

"Where's the other doc?" he asked. The doctor that had treated them for the past few days had been a no nonsense juice head who had enjoyed being brutal as possible when fixing them up. It was a wonder who made it through school these days.

The doctor walked to Romeo's bed and picked up his chart. "Got shanked while trying to break up a fight yesterday." Her voice had a rough edge to it, as if she'd drunken one too many whiskeys in her time.

She frowned at the chart while making some notes before setting it back down. "Tried to take on a man twice his size and lost, never a smart thing if you ask me." He looked to Murph and felt that his face probably had the same expression - bemusement. Twice the size of the old doc? The man musta been a giant.

"Ya wouldn't happen to be related to a Rozengurtle would ya?" The doctor gave him a quizzical look before walking over to them and picking up his chart. "Big, mean lesbian lady. Bit of a misandrist?"

"Do I look German to you?" She made a few notes before walking over to stand in front of them. Connor had always thought it was funny how two people, who weren't even related, could look so alike, yet no one could guess that he and his brother were twins.

"S'it lookin' good doc?" asked Connor, wrapping his arm around his brother's waist. The doctor looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You got lucky, according to the chart. Very little internal damage. You're gonna have to be careful not to over exert yourself or you won't be feeling like it. Now that you mention it..." The doctor pulled out a thermometre, causing him to twitch away as she held it toward his ear. She gave him a look then carefully put it in his ear until it beeped.

"Hmmm, temps normal. You been running around or something? You look a little pale." She didn't wait for a response before going to Murphy's bed and shuffling through his papers.

"Uh, look Doctor...?"

"Doctor Mackie. You can call me Mack if you'd like, but only if you're good." She shot them a rather forced smile and a wink.

"Uh yeah. Look, don't take this as a way of rushin' ya, but how long do ya think it'll be 'till we're outta here?" He could feel Murph's arm stiffen around his shoulders. Mack looked at them for several seconds, her mouth pursed as she seemed to be thinking over his question. She shot a quick look to the guard standing at the door; he was still leaned against the wall, picking at his nails.

She looked back at the twins, before pulling the curtain around the bed to hide them from view. They looked at her in confusion; she just put a finger to lips in a shushing motion and disappeared around the curtain. Connor looked to Murph who just shrugged.

"What's going on?" they heard the guard ask, his keys jingling as he pushed himself off the wall.

"I've got to do a more 'private' examination if you must know. I'm sure you'd rather not see what these boys are packing, if you know what I mean."

The boys snickered but didn't say anything as the guard spluttered a response. The doc came around and loudly announced that they need to 'strip so she could check everything from their wounds to their dicks as there was no sense in sending them out into the prison just to come back a day later from some sort of fungus.'

Murphy, at least, had the decency to blush.

The doc sat on the bed and leaned in close to them and whispered: "if it wasn't obvious, I don't need you to strip, though an old lady wouldn't mind the view, you know what I'm saying?" She put their charts down next to her and sighed. "Look, you guys are the Saints. You guys made fucking grown men piss their pants at the sight of you. Hell, you cleaned up the place for the better if you ask me, but I can't just extended your stay here to keep you safe because I think you guys did the world a service. People will start snooping around, wondering just what the hell's going on. I mean, I'll do what I can, but it's looking like you're gonna get outta here in a week tops. Your friend there... not too sure about him. His vitals are stable but he's in a medically induced coma for a reason. His injuries are serious. So unless he makes some kinda miraculous recovery in the next day or two, he'll be here a while." She grabbed one of the charts and looked it over.

Shit.

A week. They had to have the perfect plan in seven days time. One that allowed for all three of them to get out alive and in one piece. The doc seemed to be sympathetic to their cause, but that didn't mean she could be trusted to help. No, he needed outside help from the ones that'd helped them before. Duffy, Dolly and Doc were their only connection to the outside world anymore. Even though they'd saved their asses before, didn't mean they'd back them up now, especially with something as serious as this. Something that could disgrace them and get them thrown in jail too. No. He would keep them from the same fate even if he had to stay and rot here for the rest of his life.

"So this limpet is Murphy?" she asked, pointing her pen directly at his brother.

"Yep, that'd be my brother," he said with a snicker as he ruffled Murphy's hair rather forcefully causing Murphy to try to push Connor's hand away from his head. The doctor just shook her head in wonderment.

"Hey, you guys actually are two different people. Couldn't say I saw that one coming. Thought the other doctor must've stitched you two at the hip or something."

"Wouldn't cha know it, we've been told that many a time before," he said as he put his arm around his brother's neck and pulled him close. Murphy huffed but said nothing about it.

The doctor just rolled her eyes and looked back at the chart. She quickly read through, making markings as she went before she flipped the page and stopped completely, a look of annoyance flashing across her face. "I'm assuming you're aware you have aplastic anemia?"

He felt Murphy still. His anemia had always been a sensitive issue, and always would be. He'd hated seeming weaker and dependent on others, something he'd made sure Connor was aware of any chance he got. That's why, whenever the opportunity arose, like when they'd fought the Russians in the bar, Connor had made sure Murph finished the guy by himself. It was a great confidence booster for Murphy to know he could do things any other man could do, even with a potential 'handicap.' Still, it worried him and he'd never admit it to any living soul, especially Murph, but the thought of something having such control over his brother's life, beside himself, was frightening.

"Getting shot up certainly doesn't help your case. You know you could've bled out. And now we have to be on watch for possible infection for a while." The doctor pinched the bridge of her nose. "How long's it been since you've taken your meds? I mean, before we started you up again?"

"Not since this whole shit storm began. Why?"

"It says on your chart that there was only trace amounts of immunosuppressants in your system when you were brought in. You should thank your lucky stars that the attending physician did a blood test and scoured your stuff for pill bottles and realized the problem before it got too outta hand, cuz your medical chart is sure non-existent before your stay here." She studied their faces, as she seemed to be working something out in her head. "We're going to have to do a blood test once a week until you're healed up to make sure your blood cell and platelet counts are up. Once you're released from this ward, you're going to have daily visits here to get your medication."

"-," Murphy was promptly cut off as Mack stood up and drew the curtain back with a sharp snap and walked to the guard. Murph looked back to him. Something that they've always been good at, that people always took for granted because they weren't identical, was the fact that they could silently communicate with one another. Just one look could tell the other all they needed to know. And right now, he could tell Murph was just as confused as he was about what was going on. One minute the doc had been practically fawning over them, the next, she's chastising them like they were some kind of naughty schoolboys and the next? She's fraternizing with the enemy.

Once Mack and guard were done talking the approached the twins, the guard pulling something out of his pocket as he did so.

"I don't need no trouble. Get back to your own bed," the guard growled at Murphy. Murphy looked at him, giving him an infamous glare before he slowly got up, squeezing Connor's shoulder, and hobbled over to his own bed, his eyes never leaving the guard.

"There's nothing to worry about boys," said Mack. "It's just that now that you're more healed and able to walk around," her eyes darted to Murphy, "we need to make sure you're properly identified and all that. It's procedure." The guard opened his hand to reveal two plastic bracelets, similar to a hospital's, but bigger. The guard walked to Murphy first, the bracelet held flat out so he could put it on.

"Don't be a piss-head, hold out your wrist. Unless you'd rather me do it for you?" His eyes never once leaving the guard's, Murphy held out his wrist as if he wanted the man to kiss his hand. A smirk spread across his lips as the guard's scowl deepened.

"Think you're funny, boy? We'll see who's laughing in a couple of days." He then jerked Murphy's wrist closer to him and wrapped a violet bracelet around it and clicked the metal fastener into place. He sneered at Murphy one last time before he turned around and tightened a white wristband on him. The guard took one last look at them before he stalked back to his post by the door. Connor inspected his new 'jewelry.' It had a small picture of him on it and what he assumed was his prison number along with a barcode and his name. He tugged at it to see if he could get more circulation back into his hand.

"I wouldn't bother trying to get it off, it's tamper proof. Made outta plastic and laminate stuff. The only way you'll be getting that off is if you're let outta here or you cut your hand off." informed the doctor as she set their charts back into their proper places.

"Why's mine a different colour?" asked Murphy as he inspected his own bracelet.

"Cuz of your anemia. Lets the staff know what's wrong with ya so they know what to do if something goes wrong." Murphy scowled but said nothing.

"Is that normal? The different colours, I mean?" he asked. If Murphy was one of the only ones with a coloured bracelet, people would start to ask questions, something they both did not need.

"Yep. The colours all represent different things, but not always the same thing." Seeing their confusion, she sighed. "It's like, if you go out there," she said as she pointed out into the prison yard. "You may find a few other guys out there with purple bracelets like yours Murphy, but that doesn't mean they have aplastic anemia, hell, it doesn't even have to mean they have any type of anemia at all. All that colour represents is that you have a blood problem. If a staff member has to assist you right away, they'll have to look at the numbers in the top corner, across from your prison number, to get a more accurate reading of what the real problem may be."

Connor looked at his bracelet once more. He had numbers across from his prison ID too. He wondered if they meant anything, or if they just stated he was fine.

"So it says I'm some kind of sickly child who needs lookin' after then?" Connor knew that tone. It was the kind that signified he was about to start something if the next thing to happen wasn't to his liking. He shot Murphy a look and found his brother staring right back at him. No. Not at him, his bracelet.

"What does his mean? Nothing, right?" His voice was so quiet, Connor has almost missed what he had said. Murphy quickly looked down, away from his and the doctor's prying eyes.

Mack let out a deep breath from her nose and, with the soothing tones of someone who'd done this a thousand times, said: "feeling sorry for yourself ain't gonna help you. So, I suggest you buck up here and get over it, cuz yeah, you're right, your brother's bracelet says he's fine and yours doesn't. I guess some just draw the short end of the stick, if you know what I mean."

The doctor stood beside them for a moment longer before she shook her head.

"I'm leaving. I'll be back at eight to tuck you in, so make sure you're up." And with that the doctor left the room leaving two very bemused brothers.

"She's fuckin' weird," they said in unison. They looked at each other one last time, before they carefully laid back in bed. Connor looked to the ceiling as if it held the answer to all his problems, while Murphy stared at his new bracelet like it was some kind of gum stuck to his brand new shoe.


End file.
